


hugh's scienceverse shit

by wheatstuff



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Burns, Dream Bubbles (Homestuck), Gen, Hope's Peak Academy, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Unethical Experimentation, kind of, mentioned i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:21:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27768976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheatstuff/pseuds/wheatstuff
Summary: Small fics I wrote based off the Scienceverse DR RPverse by TheDreadyGamer. Chouko Ishihara belongs to ZacsRealm. I don't know shit about Danganronpa actually lmao.





	1. *wakes up* hmm today i will write scienceverse angst

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Survivors of Bitter Despair, my take on how Nathan ended up going batshit prior to the commandeering of Hope's Peak Space Station by the mastermind of SBD.

On the day of the first trial, Isaac began to have some doubts. In part, these were because he wouldn't be present at the start of the process—there was too much paperwork to take care of, and as the project lead, he'd made the executive decision to stay behind and clean up any clerical work instead of delaying the whole process.

Even though he'd promised Nathan he'd be there for every step of the project. But he wasn't  _ not _ going to be there, he reasoned, he was just being delayed. He could finish it all before the trial even began. He wasn't going to break his promise. Everything would be fine. The sinking feeling in his stomach didn't go away, though. What if something went wrong—something they hadn't planned for? What if the memory suppression programmed erased everything without backing it up. Then there'd  _ be _ no Nathan to explain himself to.

Isaac drummed his mechanical fingers on the desk, scolding himself for not having more faith in their work. The K3 Project had been his proposal, but without Nathan's help, it would've stayed a pipe dream. He was, perhaps, the most genius programmer Isaac had ever met, writing both the memory suppressor and the failsafe in a little over a week. A brilliant mind, willing to give himself up for human progress at the drop of a hat.

Convincing him to join the project had been all too easy because of that. Or rather, Nathan had convinced himself. All Isaac had to do was play the caring friend, the concerned colleague. Wild card that he was, Nathan also had his moments of predictability. Isaac only felt  _ so  _ bad for taking advantage of them. Anyone who told him he couldn't do something just made him all the more determined to make whatever it was a reality. Enough reassurances of  _ "you don't have to do this, really" _ and he was more certain of the projects success than Isaac himself.

In all honesty, Nathan had been his choice from the project's very inception. Admitting that to himself now, while he sat up in his cushy office as his friend was having his entire personality rewritten, felt a little bit weird. It wasn't anything weird, though. He really was just the best fit. Since his spinal implant allowed him to interface directly with most computers, they wouldn't have to bother with anything messy and long like most old-fashioned brainwashing.

Isaac grimaced. He didn't like that word. It certainly wasn't in use on any official documents, either—every piece of paper in front of him used some form of "memory suppression" or "talent relocation" like the Hope's Peak bureaucracy told them to. But even he had to admit to what it really was at the end of the day, hate it though he did. To push the matter out of his mind, he picked up the thickest packet full of legal jargon he could find in the mess and poured over it with his undivided attention. That was, until he heard the frantic knocking at the door.

"Dr. Locke? Dr. Locke?" It was one of the lab assistants, their panic ringing out through the wood door and reaching his very bones. This was what he'd been afraid of, wasn't it?

"Y-yes? Come in." He was out of his chair faster than an office clerk on lunch break and opened the door to see a rather haggard-looking kid in a lab coat he'd only talked to once or twice. "What the hell happened to you? Why didn't they just page me?"

"Well—we—he—something's wrong." The assistant pointed back as he talked. It was obvious he wanted Isaac to come back with him, but his mouth was going at a mile a minute and Isaac couldn't understand a word.

"Slow down," he said, but he was already leaving the room. "Now,  _ please _ explain to me what's going on, will you?"

"Something's wrong," the assistant repeated. "We don't know what happened. About halfway through the program upload Dr. Smith just started—I dunno how to say it, but he just started freaking the hell out. We thought he was seizing up or something, but when we took off his restraints to get him to the medical bay, he decked Dr. Love in the face and tried to bolt out of the lab."

"Did he get out?" Even Isaac sounded panicked, and the assistant whimpered. They reached the elevator and he jammed down the button as if it would make it go faster.

"No. We locked him in there, but we can hear him trying to bust down the door. And he keeps  _ screaming _ . We can't tell what he's trying to say at all." The assistant looked at Isaac, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock. "We did everything according to procedure. I swear. But we—we figured since you and he are—"

"Yeah, I know," Isaac replied, but he wasn't sure if he did. After all, what kind of friend would let this happen to someone? The elevator dinged. They were there.

The rest of the K3 team was huddled outside the lab looking like a pack of lost baby ducks until Isaac arrived. They swarmed him, shoving clipboards in his face and otherwise vying for his attention.

"Everybody, calm down!" He shouted, trying to maintain some semblance of order. "I'm going in there."

"Oh, no, no, no," Dr. Love said. A bruise was already starting to form around his eye where he'd been hit. "You don't wanna do that. He's gone crazy."

"No," Isaac insisted, "he's my friend. Let me try to talk to him, okay?"

The group let out a discontented murmur, but no one else tried to stop him. So, with no other objections, Isaac entered the lab.

Nothing really looked out of order when he first stepped inside. The lab was still in pristine condition—nothing was tipped over or broken. The operating tables in the center were empty, the tiled floor was spotless, and the computer was in perfect working order. One of its monitors showed a scan of a brain—Nathan's brain, Isaac noted—and the other displayed one message in dim red light.  _ Critical failure achieved.  _ Everything was in its right place, and that terrified Isaac most of all.

"*You.*" The single syllable hit Isaac like a truck. He knew that voice, but he'd never heard it filled with such hatred before. It was like it spoke to an insect rather than a human being. Turning his head to the side, Isaac finally saw him—Nathan Smith, standing in the corner wearing a hospital gown and gripping something in his left hand. Something was wrong.

Terribly, horribly wrong. Nathan didn't look relieved to see Isaac at all—in fact, he looked downright  _ furious _ . Fearful as he was of the giant in the corner, though, Isaac kept his cool, folding his hands together and giving his best customer-service smile. "Nathan," he said, a touch of pleading in his voice, "do you want to tell me what's going on? You've frightened our colleagues an awful lot."

At that, Nathan lunged, revealing what was in his left hand—a scalpel. He swung it at Isaac, who just barely dodged, leaving a scratch on the metal computer desk. "Nathan!" Isaac yelled. His entire body shook with terror as he backed himself into a corner. He needed to be as small a target as possible. "Nathan, please don't scare me like that."

Nathan turned, glaring at Isaac with enough anger to frighten a grizzly bear. "Stop calling me that," he snarled.

"W-well then, what would you like me to call you?" Isaac asked, shrinking further into the corner. Nathan started towards him, slowly this time, holding the scalpel out in front of him like a sword, or a gun.

"You know  _ damn well _ what I want to be called, Locke," he replied. Isaac jumped at the mention of his name—Nathan remembered him, but not as a friend. He recalled the assistant's words, that they'd only gotten halfway through before  _ this _ started. So his memories weren't all gone, but they were… warped. Malformed. "My  _ name _ ," he started again, "is Captain Godspeed, and you're going to address me as such whether you like it or not, okay? Is that  _ agreeable _ to you, Director?"

"N-Nathan, what are you—" He was cut off by a terrified gasp as Nathan swung the scalpel again, just barely missing his arm. "Nathan, please," he whimpered. "It's me. I'm your friend. Remember?" 

Nathan looked at him like he'd never met him before in his life—blank eyes staring down with a powerful yet somehow empty glare. Isaac looked for some sign of recognition, some sign of familiarity, but there was nothing. Whoever Nathan now thought he was, there was no trace of the years friendship and support between them—not the times he'd driven Isaac back from parties in college, or when they both tried to be Mercury's wingman, or even just the quiet moments they'd worked together. There was nothing but roiling, seething hatred. And then he laughed.

It was the most awful sound in the universe.

"You really expect me to believe," Nathan started, "that we were  _ friends _ , after you've spent  _ months  _ keeping me locked up and trying to break me?" He raised the scalpel above Isaac's head, and he followed the movement, never taking his eyes off the blade.

"Nathan," Isaac whimpered again. "Nathan. Please."

Then, several things happened at once. First—Nathan swung the scalpel, arcing it downwards with the intent to imbed it in Isaac's skull. Second—Isaac grabbed something off the desk beside him and jabbed it into Nathan's side. He didn't know what it was. He was functioning on pure survival instinct. Third—Nathan yelled. Isaac cringed at the very idea of his friend being in pain, if he could still call the man in front of him his friend. The scalpel clattered to the floor. Fourth—Nathan collapsed. Isaac caught him before he hit the ground, supporting him as best he could with shaking limbs. He pulled the thing—a needle—out of his side. Tranquilizer.

Why did they even  _ have _ tranquilizers? Isaac dragged the unconscious body of who used to be Nathan Smith back to the operating table, securing the restraints around his ankles and wrists as tight as he dared. For the briefest moment, he paused, looking at the other man's face. Even when resting, he looked troubled, with furrowed brows and a defined frown. Isaac pushed a tuft of hair out of his face, taking one last, good look at him before he sunk to the floor next to him, head in his hands.

"Oh my God," he muttered. "What have I done?"


	2. BUT WHAT IF BITCHMAN WAS NOT KIL..................

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-SBD AU where Chouko lives. Written prior to the canon followup to SBD, so also canon divergent in that sense? Chouko Ishihara belongs to ZacsRealm (and my heart belongs 2 chouko)

it was hot. hotter than he ever realized was possible. the combination of the murderous sun and the burn scars made his skin creak and scream with every step. still, he kept moving—it helped having someone to lean on. together, he and chouko moved over sand and dirt and packed clay and exposed rock, heading God knew where for God knew how long. each step took longer and longer, until it felt like hours between when he picked his foot up and when it next touched down.

nathan had counted two nights since the station crashed. they stayed in the wreckage the first night, taking stock of what supplies survived (not much) and what condition they were in (not good). by the time the sun had risen the next day, they were already on the move. he was pretty sure they were going north. not that it mattered—the heat was just as bad in every direction. at first, it had felt like a blessing. now he considered his survival additional punishment.

the trial sector, buried deep within the station, had been spared the worst of the damage during reentry, but it was still busted up, and so were the two left on board. the noise was deafening, the tremors apocalyptic. and of course, it was hot. so hot. both he and the girl were covered in burns, and when they at last landed on earth, the structure had collapsed in its entirety and buried them under the rubble.

but they still made it out, and now there they were, hobbling along the barren stretch of waste, clutching onto each other for support. he needed to bend down to get a proper grip on chouko, but considering everything, she was being rather cordial about it. even if she still complained often.

“maybe we should just die out here,” she grumbled, watching the horizon. unlike nathan, she blinked often. right then, she was squinting, too—her head was turned to the left, looking west while the sun was setting. “itd be better than facing our shithole society ever again. we're basically traitors.”

“oh, come on,” Nathan replied, trying in vain to sound positive. “its not that bad when you think about it. i mean, sure, we probably  _ should _ be dead, and by all accounts we are now, legally speaking, and our survival will probably be a PR nightmare once word gets out—we probably look like complete idiots. or maybe they look like idiots since we're still alive without having to sacrifice our human bodies. either way, somebody's going to be the idiot. maybe it is that bad.” he was aware he was rambling, but he couldn't stop himself, and chouko made no move to either. he continued in the same vein for quite some time, another ten minutes or so, until around sundown she finally shot him a look that said,  _ one more word and I'll make you WISH you died in that crash _ .

and that was the end of that, for the time being. the stars shone above and the two souls sat down to rest, neither falling asleep out if fear of predators. every howl in the night made nathan jump out fright, and every semi-visible shadow made his shell-shocked mind conjure up images of killer robots and murderous redheads. chouko just stared at the sky—he couldn't begin to imagine what she was thinking about. daizo, maybe.

they never found his body, even after searching the wreckage as thoroughly as two people with serious injuries could. anything that hadn't disintegrated in the heat had melted and warped, making ghoulish figures out of metal and glass. he couldnt tell which room used to be which. not that it mattered.

well, it did a little. he hadnt found his journal, either, which weighed on his heart more than he thought it would. nates last words to him were that little blue spiral bound notebook. they werent even to him, though, but he'd claimed ownership of those words in the past weeks—they'd grounded him, brought him back to earth when his head was swimming out among the stars.

“get some rest,” he told Chouko, breaking the silence. she gave him a blank look. “i can keep watch, for coyotes and all that. but you need to rest, please.” 

at first he thought she would snap back, lash out at him for daring to still care, but instead, she obliged, laying down and resting her head on her arms. she said nothing. nathan turned east, watching the horizon flatline like the electrocardiogram of a dying person. somewhere out there were the other survivors. somewhere above him was isaac, still floating lifeless through the stars.

somewhere behind him was the wreckage of all his hopes and dreams. but despite everything, he and chouko were alive. they persisted.

and he'd be damned if he would throw it away this time.

***

sometime around midnight, judging by the position of the moon, chouko woke up. nathan didnt notice her rising at first; his back was turned and his ears were still ringing from the sound of the station falling apart. when she stumbled, fell, and cursed, though, he whipped his head around, eyes wide with surprise.

"where are you going?"

"away," chouko spat. "I don't fuckin know. im just gonna keep walking until i find a good hole to curl up and die in." her voice was more bitter than the blackest of coffee. even though he couldn't see her face, nathan could imagine her expression—a deep scowl accentuating lines of worry and stress, with eyes full of cold anger and something else he couldn't quite grasp. he was a scientist, not a mind reader.

she'd taken several more steps away before he called out to her. she turned back around, and he could make out the faintest of glares. "wait," he said. "don't go. please."

"why not?"

"i—i don't think its a good idea to wander around the desert at night," he replied, fumbling with the words in his head. what was he supposed to say? that she had a life worth living ahead of her? those words hadn't worked when hana had said them, and they weren't going to work then, either.

chouko sighed, exasperated. "good. maybe something'll come along and maul me to death, then." despite her words, she hadn't made any move to keep walking away. that was a good sign, wasn't it?

"okay, listen," Nathan began, "I know this is sort of a— _ less than ideal _ —scenario for you, but i think it means something. 'it' in this case being our survival. i think its some kind of sign."

"a  _ sign _ ?" she sounded like she was ready to laugh in his face. "a sign of what, doc? that my body needs to be as fucked up as my brain? look at us! we look like corpses already!"

upon hearing her words, nathans hand shot to the side of his face. the heat had messed up the touch sensors on his left palm, but the scorched skin on his face reacted to the slightest sensation with what felt like the sting of a thousand wasps. the burn ran down his face and to his shoulder, where the heat had warped his flesh and prosthetics. he couldn't bend his left arm all the way anymore because of the damage. chouko wasnt any better off, either—even in the dim moonlight he could see where fire had burned away the right leg of her pants and charred through layers of flesh. there were cuts across her face and torso from shrapnel, some as thin as paper cuts, others reaching much further into depths nathan was afraid to think about.

the desert was silent except for the hum of insects. without either of them speaking, he could almost imagine that this was just some kind of purgatory instead. at least then hed know this was the sort of hell he deserved.

then something howled. it sounded far away, but it was still too close for his comfort.

"seriously, please dont leave me out here alone," he begged, arm outstretched to chouko. "i can't do this alone. i cant—i cant face them."

for a brief moment, he thought chouko would turn around and leave him anyway, letting him deal with the wrath of the world by himself. he was an adult, after all. shouldnt he be able to handle it? and yet, she didnt.

"dont act so surprised," she mumbled as she sat back down beside him. "youll make me reconsider."

"i promise this isnt a mistake," he replied. "were here— _ alive _ —for a reason. i have faith in that."

"youre awfully superstitious for a scientist, y'know that?"

"i was raised religious. i can't help it."

chouko rolled back onto the dirt, turning herself away from nathan. "thats more of your backstory than i ever cared to know about," she said before adding, "if something eats you while im asleep, it's not my problem, just so we're clear here."

he sighed, nodding even though he knew she wouldn't see. "roger that." 

***

"so what's the plan then, doc?"

Nathan woke to the sound of choukos voice and sunlight shining right in his face. he didn't remember drifting off the night before. pushing himself off the ground, he dusted flecks of orange dirt off his arms and shirt. then he looked around. chouko was sitting beside him, legs crossed, looking impatient.

"what plan?" he asked, reaching for a bottle of water. before they left the wreckage, they'd gathered as much food from what might've been the kitchen as they could. the fruits of their efforts were one twelve-pack of plastic water bottle, a charred loaf of bread, more beef jerky than they really knew what to do with, and one box of Hot Pockets. overall, not as bad as it could've been. nathan chugged the water, watching chouko with a hawk's stare.

"youre pretty damn insistent on us being here for a reason. excuse me for thinkin' you had some kinda plan." she was looking away from him now, back at the horizon. "its around ten or so. we should get moving soon."

" _ ten _ ?" he nearly spit his water out. "jesus, chouko—er, ishihara, why didnt you wake me up earlier?" in an instant, he was scrambling to get up. "were losing daylight!" chouko jumped back. he startled her out of whatever sleepy daze shed been holding on to, and she looked about ready to slap him. regardless, she stuffed the water back into the trash bag she used to carry their supplies and hefted it back over her shoulder. the two leaned on each other, pushing the other up until they were both standing.

"north again?" they were already shuffling their way across the sand, in the same direction as before.

chouko snorted. "is that part of the plan?"

"the plan," nathan replied, "is medical attention."

"and after that?"

he paused, then shrugged. "you can leave then, if you want. I want to at least make sure youre not going to die out here."

"but if I died anywhere else, you wouldn't care?"

"hey, its your life. i cant tell you what to do with it."

chouko went silent, choosing to think rather than respond. nathan could respect that. he didnt anything else, letting the monotony of the walk take over in place of conversation. just one foot in front of the other, slow and uneven steps across the almost infinite barren terrain. the sun rose further in the sky, beating down on them and making the top of his head feel like a stovetop. something about the heat made him nervous—like one wrong step and it would shroud his body once more, rocking him to his core like it had on the station. first his prosthetics would melt, gluing him in place. then his skin would go next, followed by muscle, bone, and finally, his very soul. there would be nothing left of nathan smith, not even ashes to give to his father for mourning. there would be no afterlife, no second chance, no final words he never got to hear.

there would be nothing but heat, the burning brimstone of hell. maybe this  _ was _ hell. a neverending desert and an unspoken promise he couldnt keep. they would never find help. theyd die out here, and wake up by the carcass of the station to set out in a different direction towards the same results. 

at least, thats how it felt until they spotted the ATV.

***

He and Chouko were having their arms about, jumping around and trying to get the drivers attention. "HEY! OVER HERE!" all the while, theyd been walking closer and closer to it, wondering if whoever was on it could see them at all. everything was flat. there was visibility for miles. were they just blind?

and then, it started moving towards them, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake. nathan turned to chouko with a grin as wide as he could manage. "see? i told you were weren't going to die out here."

"don't speak so soon. we don't know who this guy's with," she replied. despite her words, nathan saw the smallest glint of hope in her eyes—a promise that maybe, not everything had to suck anymore.

as the ATV moved closer, nathan could make out a logo on the front, some kind of orange triangle with something inside. he craned his neck, trying to read the letters.

"national… national something. P-A—oh my god. National Parks Service!" 

"what?" chouko squinted, confused.

"the national parks service," he replied, excitement increasing. "were in the united states. that's a park ranger!"

"i have no idea what the fuck that means—oh, hey!" she stopped, waving over the driver. "over here!"

the ranger stopped a few feet away, dismounting the ATV. their face was obscured by a helmet, but they wore cargo shorts and a short-sleeved shirt in various shades of dull green. they approached the pair, hands on their hips, then took off the helmet.

he was older than nathan, with a salt and pepper beard, but in much better physical condition—and that wasnt even taking into about the damage from the crash. the ranger put a pair of Ray Bans on in place of the helmet, then turned and addressed nathan.

"you a 'bot?" he had a thick southern accent, dousing every word like kerosene. even though nathan couldn't see his eyes, he knew he was looking right at his arm.

"no," he replied. "just unfortunate."

"i can certainly tell. you mind showin' me what's in that bag there, lil lady?" the ranger pointed at choukos trash bag like it was some kind of contraband item. as if on command, she tipped out its contents, letting their meager supplies tumble onto the dirt. the ranger's eyebrows rose, out of surprise more than suspicion.

"if it's not too much trouble," nathan began, "would you uh—mind telling us where we are? please."

the ranger chuckled, a sort of deep-belly laugh that made nathan think of a grandpa laugh. "youre in death valley national park, son. you fresh off the boat or somethin'?"

"no, no," he backpedalled. "were just—"

"its a long story." chouko wasnt amused in the slightest. she stared deadpan at the ranger, searching for  _ something _ , but nathan couldnt quite tell what. 

"ill say," the ranger replied. "anyway, i can call a chopper, get yall folks to the hospital—" he gestured at choukos leg "—then im gonna have a couple questions for ya there—wait, have i seen yall somewhere before?" he took off his sunglasses, coming closer to look at the two. his breath smelled like meat, and nathan scrunched up his nose. chouko wasnt fazed at all.

"yeah, y'look familiar, ill give ya that, but i cant quite place ya." he snapped his fingers a couple times, then did a 360 turn and pointed at chouko. "hopes peak station?"

chouko just nodded. the ranger slapped her on the back, making her lose her balance. "why didn't yall just say so then! them fellas just got all their permits in order to check out the wreck. y'all coulda just stayed put 'n they woulda found ya then! woulda been better than traipsin' 'round the desert for the past few days."

nathan felt his stomach drop. "you mean we couldve just— _ stayed there _ ?" all that walking was for nothing. he wanted to curl up into a little ball and sink into the dust, never to be seen again.

and the look he got from chouko doubled that feeling. " _ lets keep moving _ ," she whispered, mimicking his voice. " _ were alive for a reason. maybe we'll find someone if we keep walking _ ."

if she wanted to kill him, he would understand. hed led them out into the middle of nowhere, away from the one place they knew had any sort of supplies, and if they hadnt stumbled into the ranger, they just wouldve kept walking.

and walking.

and walking.

the ranger, oblivious to choukos rage, sighed, then smiled, pleased with himself. he mumbled something into the radio he carried, then said, "alright, chopper's on its way. ill let the hopes peak people know yall're out here and theyll take care of it from there. pleasure meetin' ya, and sorry 'bout all that mess up there."

he waited on his ATV until the helicopter arrived, carrying nathan and chouko out of the desert. chouko was still staring knives at him the whole way.


	3. pretty cool rp verse u got there, but what if there was homestuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post-Treasures of the Fallen, aka the actual followup to SBD. Nathan dies. I do Homestuck with this.

Sunlight hit Nathan’s cheek through the cafe window, warming him up along with the coffee before him. The entire room smelled of roasted beans and baked good fresh out of the oven, bitter and sweet smells combining into the scent equivalent of a warm hug. He traced the wood grain of the table with one hand, holding his cup of coffee in the other. A  _ real _ cup, one made of ceramic rather than recycled paper. For once, he was taking the time to relax in the morning, rather than rushing straight to work and burying himself in research. Between Isaac’s insistence and the warm atmosphere in the shop, he couldn’t say no. What was a little coffee and small talk between friends, after all?

He took a sip of his brew—no milk, four cubes of sugar. He liked the contrast between the saccharine sugar and the sharp, roasted beans distilled into his drink. It tasted even better now that he had the chance to sit down and enjoy it sip by sip without worrying about being late. Across the table, enjoying his own drink, was Isaac, relaxing in a push armchair with a soft smile on his face. Just like Nathan, he seemed lost in the coziness that enveloped the shop like a fluffy blanket. Something about so many mismatched antiques crammed into such a small space made it impossible not to feel at home in the cafe. It was so comforting, so  _ familiar _ .

Isaac set his cup down, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on the backs of his hands. He blinked once, long and slow as if he was about to fall asleep. “This is the best decision I’ve made in about a month,” he said, looking up at the wall above Nathan. All four of them were lined with worn wooden clocks and cases of chinaware, outdated maps and art prints.

“Agreed.” Nathan took another sip of coffee. “I’m always in such a hurry in the mornings, you know? I never noticed how much stuff was in here.” He put his cup down and smiled at Isaac. “Thanks for inviting me. This is nice.”

“It is. I figured even if Mercury and Nate couldn’t join us, I should still do something nice for your birthday.”

“Wait, what?” Nathan almost spit his drink out onto the table. To avoid this, he swallowed fast and ended up choking, having to cough and hack into a napkin until he could speak again. Isaac watched with mild shock, although something about the look in his eye made Nathan think he was holding in laughter. He’d seen that face a million times before.

“Today’s November fourteenth. Did you really forget again?”

“I get busy, okay?” Nathan waved away his concern. “Besides, birthdays just mean you’re one year closer to death. That’s nothing to celebrate.” As he spoke, he felt something odd stir in his gut.  _ Again _ . Had he ever forgotten it before? For some reason, he couldn’t remember. In fact, he couldn’t even remember that morning too well, if at all. And yet this scene felt familiar in more ways than just the comfortable atmosphere. It wasn’t a vague sense of warmth and nostalgia, it was proper déjà vu. He’d been here before, in this chair, listening to Isaac chastise him about his birthday.

Isaac opened his mouth to speak again, the wry smile on his face as familiar as his own face. “You really shouldn’t—”

“You really shouldn’t push yourself so hard at work,” Nathan finished, mumbling under his breath. 

Concerned, Isaac furrowed his brows. “Nathan? How did you—?”

“Why are we alone in here?” The severity in his voice surprised even him, but he was right—there wasn’t a single other soul in the building. Its once comforting warmth now felt suffocating, like an inferno instead of a fireplace.

_ An inferno. An explosion, one he caused by rigging up a bomb to his left arm and blowing the station straight to hell along with hundreds of others trapped inside. _

Nathan was no longer in the garb of a chilly November morning. Now he wore a tattered, burnt t-shirt and ragged jeans, no shoes on his feet. His right arm wasn’t just half mechanical, rather, it was all steel and exposed wiring. He looked like he’d been through hell—because he had. He stared back to Isaac, unable to disguise the fear in his voice. “What’s going—what’s going on? Isaac?”

Isaac had been searching the empty shop, and when he looked back at Nathan, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes were white; no iris, no pupil, just pure white like a void. “Well, I guess the jig is up,” Isaac said, trying for a sheepish grin. “You’re here now though. No need to panic.”  
“Where the hell even _is_ here?” Nathan demanded. He opened and closed his left hand, wondering why it was still intact. Wouldn’t the explosion have ruined it? Wouldn’t it have ruined _him_?

“This is a dream bubble,” Isaac replied. “After you die, it forms around your memories. Instead of falling into the void, we go here, living peacefully in the past until the pain catches up to us and we remember. Then we wander in between memories for the rest of eternity, or at least until the bubble are destroyed, whenever that may be.”

“So it’s real, then,” he murmured in reply. “It happened. I—I killed them.” Isaac nodded. Groaning in despair, Nathan buried his face in his hands. “God, I’m no different from Hanada, aren’t I?”

Shrugging, Isaac said, “if you think that’s a fair assessment, then sure.”  
“That’s it? Just _sure_?”

“I don’t really know what you expect of me.”

Nathan sunk lower into his seat, his foreheard against the table. The wood grain felt the same as it had before, the smell of coffee still finding its way to his nose. But none of it was real. It was just a facsimile, a madman’s dying dream. None of it mattered. “I don’t know, either.”


	4. three days later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WHOOPS I FORGOT ONE. anyway i think this is a prequel to the prequel? this is purely my own oc shit at this point barely connected to the events of the verse. how nathan lost an arm, au edition ft super duper ooc isaac.

Three days after the accident, Nathan heard a knock on the hospital room door. It was the first time anyone visiting had bothered to knock—and the first time anyone had visited. Absentee “get well soon” cards were stacked on the bedside table, empty condolences from people who were too busy to care. Not that he minded; he would’ve felt bad if people took time from more important things just to come visit him. But somebody  _ had _ come to visit, and they were still knocking at the door as he laid there and stared at it. He sighed.

“Come in, Isaac,” he called from the bed, straining his voice. The door wasn’t that far from him, but the wood was thick, and he wanted to make sure he was heard. The knocking stopped.

“Oh, good, you’re awake—wait, how did you know it was me? Am I that obvious?” A light peeked through the frame before the door was thrust open, letting fluorescent hospital lighting bleed into the dim room and blind Nathan. All he could do was squint and wait for his eyes to adjust, before the image of Isaac Locke holding a large tupperware container of  _ something _ came into focus. His brow was bent with worry, as usual, but there was something more caring than clinical in his eyes for the moment. He held out the container. “I brought you soup. Mercury sends her regards.”

“I was about to ask what that was,” Nathan replied, still blinking away the bright light. “Mercury made it? Good. I’m pretty sure your cooking counts as a war crime somewhere.” Of course, he left out the matter of eating it—he didn’t have any hands to hold a spoon with, and he wasn’t about to ask Isaac to feed it to him. He’d lost his arm, not his pride.

Isaac didn’t respond beyond a groan and a roll of his eyes before sitting down in the rolling chair to the left of the bed, placing the soup on the pile of unopened cards. He huffed, spun around once, then looked up at the ceiling.

Nathan gestured to the side with his head. “Camera’s in front of the door.”

“Thanks. Any idea how long they’re keeping you here?” Isaac tapped his fingers on the side of the chair, now making eye contact with the security camera.

He shrugged. “Most likely another week or two. One week to complete the prosthetics, one for rehab. They’re making a new one for my right arm, too, so that’s news.”

“Really? Was it damaged at all?” 

It was a simple question—even a nod or shake of the head would’ve sufficed, but thinking back to what happened made Nathan want to curl up into a ball and disappear. Everything had been going smoothly one moment, and the next he was on the floor with his arm three feet away and his leg hanging on by only sinew. The left side of his body burned like someone had doused him with kerosene and set him ablaze, but even that would’ve been a more pleasant sensation than the one boiling over in his gut.

Failure. Again.

He was starting to wonder if maybe he was the problem.

“Nathan?” He snapped back to reality hearing Isaac call his name, a slight tremor running through his body upon realizing he’d been spacing out.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

Then there was silence. Neither one of them wanted to say anything else. Whenever Nathan looked over, he saw Isaac staring at the stump where his left arm used to be before looking away when he realized Nathan had noticed. He didn’t mind him staring. In fact, he expected it. But the pity in his eyes as he did made Nathan angry for a reason he couldn’t pin down. 

“Aren’t you gonna say it?”

Isaac looked at Nathan’s face, and they made eye contact before he averted his eyes again. “What?”

“You know.  _ ‘I told you so.’ _ You told me so. You were right. Again.” Nathan turned his head, looking at what was left of his leg—the doctor had cut just under the knee, so the joint was still intact even if there wasn’t anything to bend. It was easier than looking at Isaac.

“I—” Isaac fished for words while Nathan still stared at his leg. He was surprised to hear that Isaac sounded kind of hurt—he loved being proven right. Why was now any different? “Nathan, there’s a difference between being right about, say, not getting enough sleep because you decided to drink a Mountain Dew at nine at night and being right about your best friend getting half blown to pieces. This—this isn’t—I can’t just—do you really think I’m that  _ heartless _ ?”

Nathan blinked in surprise. “I’m not—” he began, but then cut himself off. Didn’t it say something that he expected his friend to treat him so coldly? Was he a bad person for it? “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, lying back on the bed.

More silence. He began to wonder if Isaac had just left before he heard him speak again. “It’s okay,” he replied. “I’m worked up over this too, you know? I should’ve never let you go through with this.”

“I would’ve agreed to help whether you approved or not,” Nathan said. He rolled over in bed, the stiff mattress pressing against his hip. Not a comfortable position in the slightest, but it kept Isaac out of his line of sight.

“I still can’t help but feel like this is at least somewhat my fault.”

“Please don’t.”  
“Why not?”

Nathan groaned in frustration, wishing he had hands to pull at his hair with. “Because it’s  _ not _ . Period. It’s my fault that I failed again, okay?”


End file.
